A/N: Song by NEFFEX (found while I was browsing for new workout/gym motivation music)

Disclaimer: What's Bethesda's is theirs, likewise for mod creators.

Chapter 7: Move Like This

Curtis was wearing heavy chitin armor and he rapped as he worked out, for rhythm and for testing endurance; if he got too winded to rap, then he needed a break because he was getting too exhausted to train safely.

You're never gonna make it
You're not good enough
There's a million other people with the same stuff
You really think you're different
Man you must be kidding
Think you're gonna hit it
But you just don't get it
It's impossible
It's not probable
You're irresponsible
Too many obstacles
You gotta stop it yo
You gotta take it slow
You can't be a pro
Don't waste your time no more

Who the fuck are you
To tell me what to do
I don't give a damn if you say you disapprove
I'm gonna make my move
I'm gonna make it soon
And I'll do it cause it's what I want to fuckin' do
'cause all these opinions and all these positions
They coming in millions, they blocking your vision
But no, you can't listen, that shit is all fiction
'cause you hold the power as long as you're driven

You're never gonna make it
There's no way that you make it
Yeah maybe you can fake it
But you're never gonna make it

Are you just gonna take that?
Make them take it all back
Don't tell me you believe that
Are you just gonna take that
Or will you fucking fight back?

Or will you fucking fight back?

This was mind-to-body bonding; his mind, the late Slitter's body. If Curtis "stepped back" and let Slitter's ghost take over, the ingrained memory of the body was there. Slitter had been a dangerous fighter, brute power and savage, straight for the kill — if Curtis allowed it. He felt like he was driving a car with worn wheel bearings. It needed fixing before the wheels came off the wagon.

"If that is your example of dancing, you're not ready to perform. And what kind of singing is that?"

Curtis halted his judo exercises — which truthfully could pass as dance moves. Hell, he remembered some joker videotaping his class going through the exercises and then adding cheesy disco music before posting it online — and turned to Colette. "If you were expecting some lame-ass romantic fluff, then, no, it ain't that type of song. It's for the doubters and the haters." He pulled off his helmet, showing that he was grinning at her, and picked up a pitcher of cold black tea sweetened with honey and gulped half of it down. "Nothing better than seeing the morning sun on your beautiful hair, Colette, but what can I do for you?"

"I just came by to remind you not to be late to tonight's dinner to welcome Calcelmo back to Winterhold. None of us want to miss the entertainment of you keeping the peace between him and Baladas."

"No worries, babe; I'll be there."

"Are you sure? I'd heard you were planning to go exploring the Skytemple drop off. I know you tend to forget time and if you're deep diving, you can't afford to short your time in the decompression bubble."

"Current got bad suddenly before dawn. We cancelled the dive."

"Oh. Then I'll warn you instead Baladas that went looking for you at the dive sites, no doubt to complain, and he'll probably be even more irked to find he's wasted time looking for you at the beach." Mission done, she went back inside and Curtis wiped down the inside of his helmet but decided not to put it back on. He picked up a jump rope.

He had gotten into a steady rhythm when he heard someone drawl, "Interesting footwork, Ser Johnson."

Curtis stopped, wary. The speaker had approached from the direction of the Arcaneum. Male, dunmer accent, and in full light chitin armor that shimmered with magic. He had a shortsword on his right hip and a pickaxe that glittered with what looked like ice crystals on his left. He was a head shorter and lean built.

Uh-oh. Slitter recognized him and not in a good way. Curtis felt rising anger and his body's ramp-up to fighting condition. He mentally grappled and seized breathing control and forced a calming, deep-breathing pattern.

It was not a quiet process and the other watching him with evidence interest. He took off his helmet, letting Curtis see his tight, sneering smile. "I wonder if I should be flattered for inspiring such reaction. You've been doing quite well for yourself, Slitter."

"Slitter's dead. I'm here now," Curtis said between deep breaths.

"So I've heard. So I've seen. We've been here long enough to choke on all the praise of your brilliance and your innovations, Ser Curtis Johnson. We are impressed."

"That's nice. Mind telling me your name?"

"Ralis. Ralis Sedarys."

"I take it you and Slitter had run-ins in the past."

"Not really. Not me personally. But certainly with my employer Helsette Faro."

"And she's in town?" Despite Splitter's anger/fear reaction, Curtis felt a squiggle of excitement. The Dragonborn was finally here and he'd get to meet her. Faced with that prospect, Slitter went into hiding and Curtis was able to shrug off the last of his body's tension.

But he was let down when Ralis replied, "No. She's still attending to business in the Reach and I wasn't needed. I'm here with my fiancée and her aunt. Her husband, Steward Revyn, asked me to look you over. He's also familiar with your past and is wondering what Mogrul's leg-breaker is doing playing at being dwemer engineer in this critical breakwater project."

"I'm not Slitter and I don't know any Mogrul. Ask around."

"Already done. I've heard of head injuries that have caused unusual brilliance in certain skills, but always with great loss in personality and previous skills. What people tell me of you could not possibly come from the mer I knew in Raven Rock. Except for the temper. I talked to Bravil and Kemir, the brothers you nearly killed five days ago. A very Slitter-like reaction to their attack."

Crap. Two brothers had just arrived in Winterhold with other dunmer from Windhelm looking for work. The two had also recently come from Solstheim. Curtis didn't have the full story from them. All he knew was that they hated Slitter, blamed him for someone's death, and wanted revenge. They'd followed him when he'd left the beach and confronted him on a trail halfway to town. Plenty of loud insults as they worked themselves into a frenzy. From the words, Curtis figured Slitter had done some collecting on them and in doing so had badly injured someone who later died from the injuries. He'd met others from Solstheim who also hated Slitter, but so far he'd been able to talk his way out of a fight.

The sand thrown into his eyes and their attempt to kneecap him brought Slitter out. Curtis didn't remember anything that happened. He'd woken face-up on the ground, iron, magic-draining shackles on his wrist and a gag in his mouth. Fortunately for the brothers, people had seen and got the guards involved. When it was known Curtis was involved, Sergeant Stig had come running with one of the special stun-sticks the College had provided. He'd magically tazered all of them.

"Would Slitter have paid the healer fees? Would Slitter have argued with the Jarl's justice to have the charges reduced to public brawling instead of attempted murder?" Curtis argued. "I'm not him."

"Yet you wear his flesh and stand on his bones. So what are those exercises you do?" he asked, abruptly switching the topic.

"Oh, the jump rope? Footwork practice, endurance building, coordination. Try it."

Ralis accepted the challenge.

"You might wanna drop your weapons first; they'll catch in the rope. And, here, hold the rope here and here. Best length is if the ends don't go higher than your armpits."

Well, Ralis wasn't bad at it. He caught the rhythm quickly, but the unfamiliar activity soon winded him.

Two more armored warriors came onto the roof. They wore fancy bonemold and red silk of the Redoran. The line badges, however, were beyond him. Their helmets were off so he could see they were two lovely ladies. As the came closer Curtis could see the little nicks and scratches of combat. One hadn't yet repaired her leg armor and she limped.

Ralis gladly tossed aside the rope. He went to the limping lady. "I thought you were going to see the healers," Curtis heard him say.

"They were busy at the time. However, we passed the Restorations master on the way up and she said she'd take care of me right after she fetched a student she wanted to test on my leg."

"You're not a teaching subject for students."

"Relax, my dear. This is a school and they have to learn somehow."

"Good attitude," said Curtis.

They looked at him coolly. Curtis blushed. With his new ears he picked up a lot more than he used to and he did have a bad habit of butting into conversations when he wasn't invited. Yeah, he was the type that harassed people who talked too loudly on their cellphone on the bus, in the store, in the bathroom, and he did it obnoxiously by adding comments to their conversations. But these people hadn't been talking at an offensive volume.

"Sorry, sorry. Didn't mean to be rude," he said.

"Forgiven. It is pleasing to see one so supportive of education," the injured lady said.

"Curtis Johnson, I introduce you to Muthseras Karis and Melynis Selvaai of House Selvaai of Redoran," said Ralis.

Curtis bobbed a quick bow. "A pleasure, ladies. Curtis Johnson, engineering consultant, College of Winterhold."

"Mysterious possessing ghost," added Melynis with a hard smile. "What happened to Slitter?"

"Don't know, ma'am. He was dead when I got here," Curtis answered truthfully. "The College is trying to help me find the entity culprit responsible for my being here. And this is not something for the general public to know; even most of the masters at the College don't know. As far as anybody's concerned, I'm just a crazy dunmer with delusions of being a nord."

"Do you claim to know nothing about your past?" she challenged.

He looked away towards the statue of Azura in the distance. The other dunmer followed his gaze. "I remember it quite clearly. But my family, my kin, my ancestors are in another planar page in the book of life."

"I'm not a wizard so I can't pretend to understand what you just said," said Ralis. "Speak more plainly."

"Sorry. All I know is I'm here in a world I wasn't born in. Look, if you want more info, you'll have to talk to Tolfdir or Urag. I'm sure if you're... Well, if they think you should know more, then they'll tell you what you need to know. Good enough?"

"Fair enough," said Ralis.

"Say, I don't suppose you know anything about Slitter's past? I've been wondering if I should, you know, apologize to his ancestors. Maybe plant an ash yam in Slitter's memory?"

"I don't know," said Ralis. "You would have to check with the port authority offices of Raven Rock for immigration and tax records. To live and work in Raven Rock he would have to be registered. Only reavers and other criminals and Telvanni bypass the Redoran port authority."

"Oh, right. Guess that would be the logical step."

"We dunmer may not be as anal as imperials or House Hlaalu about paperwork, but the Morvayns have found it necessary to adopt some imperial habits because of Solstheim's rediscovered value as a source of ebony, among other things."

"Right, right," said Curtis. "But enough about me. How 'bout we get inside and get your leg seen to, ma'am?" he said to Melynis. He offered his arm which Melynis looked at curiously. Ralis scowled and held out his hand to his fiancée which she took. They proceeded ahead and Curtis offered his arm to Lady Karis who took it after he tapped the place where her hand should be.

Curtis left them in Colette's care and he hastened to the beach to see if he could meet up with Baladas, but the staff there told him Baladas had just left moments before. Curtis wondered how come they hadn't met on the main trail up. Oh, right. Baladas was a master mage of the old Morrowind. He probably used a recall spell to the College since no one made any comments on seeing the elderly wizard float up and fly back. The Telvanni mage-lords didn't let some piddly little Imperial Decree forbidding teleportation and levitation magic stop them from using their rightful powers.

OK, double-time back up the trail and over the bridge and back into the College. Baladas was in his office in the Hall of Countenance. It was set up more as an office with a desk and bookshelves and tables holding dwemer machine scraps. He had a narrow bed behind a screen for the rare times he stayed at the College. He actually lived in the the southmost part of Eastmarch at Mistwatch Keep, the ruined fortress and surrounding land he'd bought from the Jarl of Windhelm. It was now the center of a small town called Mistwatch and primarily made up of Telvanni and Hlaalu immigrants with a few original nord locals. He accepted graduate students under a modified apprentice program hosted at Mistwatch.

"Tell me why you think we need Calcelmo to investigate Skytemple?" Baladas demanded without preamble.

"Because I believe in cross-disciplinary research." Curtis invited himself to a chair. "Although, technically, you are both in dwemer research but your respective approaches and techniques are different enough to be separate disciplines. Serjo, you've researched the dwemer from their early works in Resdayne. He's studied their cities after they migrated to Skyrim after the formation of the First Council. Since then there were bound to be changes in philosophies and technology. And then you know researchers can have different approaches and insights. The disciplines of dunmer and altmer magics would ensure that even though you both study the same subject. There is also that your research was done in isolation and never shared with others. He's studied other works and contributed to the general knowledge. Your approaches are different. You study the machines. He looks at the people that built the machines. He may not be your level of expertise with the machines, but his documentations reach a broad audience and invite dare others to share their knowledge."

"Tell me something I don't know, ser," Baladas said snappishly.

"Alright." Curtis chewed on his thumb as he thought about it. "How 'bout this — you tell me what you want for you to work with him. But, I warn you, I really don't know enough about the world to do any fetch quests, like, find obscure books for you."

Baladas's eyes narrowed. Stupid! Curtis swore internally. Baladas knew Curtis was from another world, but he hadn't been told the aspect where his world was a fantasy game in Curtis's old reality. "Very well. I shall hold you to your promise of favors to be collected at a later date. Agreed?"

"Um..."

"Nothing that shall put your life in danger. In fact, the first favor requires that you persuade Urag to share with me his notes of your world."

"That might be do-able." A heavily edited share, but he thought he could get Tolfdir and Urag agree to that. Everything except any mention of video games and the Elder Scroll series.

It worked. The welcome dinner for Calcelmo was a dull event in that there were no explosions, but it was lively for those interested in theories about the dwemer, especially when Curtis speculated how the Eye of Magnus, a mysterious object, possibly a work of the Divines, and a device of unlimited energy might be connected to the newly discovered dwemer site. It was actually quite amusing and getting into silly as Curtis plied both fascinated dwemer researchers with a lot of firebrand wine as he first explained the Eye of Magnus to Baladas and Calcelmo, and then he engaged them with a fictitious and wildly improbable story wherein he called himself a memory-confused "Quaid" on a mission to restart a "reactor" buried in a mysterious underground structure.

+—+—+—+—+

Curtis was again "dancing" and rapping as a mix of people filtered into the Winterhold Guards' new training area that the town was now able to afford for them. A few guards, some dunmer, some nords, a couple of College apprentices, Ralis and Melynis, and curious bard crowded in. Starting recently, Curtis taught street judo fighting. Some people had seen him fighting and were interested in his unusual technique. This was just the third session. He gave his usual lecture of the technique being not so much striking and kicking, but grappling and leverage.

Caveat though, as anyone knew who'd done actual fighting, grappling was lousy defense if your opponent was still armed with a knife, spike, or anything sharp. He freely admitted that he was still trying to teach himself how to modify this style to working in armor which could offer enough protection from a blade for one to complete the throw-down of an opponent.

First, though, learn to hit the ground right and not be afraid to get hurt. Apprentice healers were on hand eager to practice their craft on those who didn't have the necessary coordination and/or pain tolerance. Volunteers helped drag and place the heavy padded leather mats into place and tumbling lessons began. No armor for now. A quick demo. Two unarmed guard volunteers came at him. Grapple, slam. Get jumped on. Roll the weight and momentum, choke lock and arm lock. The healers took care of the dislocated shoulder of one volunteer and revived the other choked-unconscious volunteer while he re-emphasized that he was not gonna teach anyone those advanced moves who didn't go through the basics. He was teaching a discipline, not cheat tricks. If anyone was here just for shortcuts, this was not the place.

He didn't expect anyone to leave right off. Nope, the get-to-know-the ground exercises could be counted on to weed out the casuals. Suited him fine. He was already at maximum for projects he could handle. All he really wanted was some steady sparring partners so he could improve his own skills. He already had a couple serious guys, Sergeant Beck of the Guards and J'zargo, both tough, experienced fighters he didn't have to baby along and who already had enough self-discipline in combat to know sparring from the real thing. But, those two had their own work and it was difficult to set up a steady schedule. So the more options he could find the better. Besides teaching would make him slow down to review and practice the basics; make him re-analyze his own competencies.

"So, a fascinating discipline from a servant of Fa-Nuit-Hen?" said Lady Karis to Curtis. She watched with a smile as Ralis and Melynis practiced their tumbling. Melynis had no problem; Ralis was stiff and already was favoring his right shoulder.

"Fa-who?"

"Boethiah's son, Fa-Nuit-Hen, the Multiplier of Motions Known, and whose realm is Maelstrom."

"Oh, wait, wait. That's the guy who Vivec wrote about in his Sermons. Claimed the guy taught him everything about fighting even before he was hatched, right?"

"Sermon 1 of 36. Yes."

"Oh, yeah, yeah. That's the puppy. Me," he chuckled, "a Baron of Move-Like-This. Hah! I like that. Hey! You there! Stop right now. Let me show you what how to do it right 'cuz you're gonna break your neck if you keep doing that."